


Swans

by sherlollymouse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Snow, Swans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:48:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5403626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlollymouse/pseuds/sherlollymouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly has found herself saddled with 7 swans and needs Mycroft's help with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swans

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Wetislandinthenorthatlantic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic/pseuds/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic) in the [12_days_of_mollcroft_2015](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/12_days_of_mollcroft_2015) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> Day 7 -- 7 Swans a-Swimming

Molly Hooper was deeply relieved at how well trained the swans were, calmly following her. It made the looks that passersby gave her more tolerable, frankly, because who leads seven swans through London in the snow? The poor things followed blindly, honking and fussing with their feathers. She was relieved when she finally reached the building. A woman with swans in the Diogenes Club-- madness! Taking a deep breath she prepared herself to breach the historically all-male club.  
Picking up her feet and running towards the stairs, she could hear the swans behind her begin to fly and run as they followed her and the whispered swears of the guards that had popped out of the woodwork. Finally through the door, she frantically counted at the swans.  
“1...2...3...4….5….6….Where’s seven?” Cracking the door and glancing back down the hallway, she saw the trailing foul running after her with wings spread and suited men falling over themselves to catch the frantic bird. She didn’t allow herself a moment to debate, she simply ran out to the bird and wrapped it in her arms, leaving the guards to fall over each other in the hall while she raced back to the office and closed to door.  
“Miss Hooper --”  
“Doctor Hooper.” She corrected Mycroft, through large deep breaths; filling her lungs.  
“Doctor Hooper,” there was a definite annoyance in his voice. “What on earth are these birds doing in my office?”  
“Well,” swallowing hard, Molly dropped herself into a chair. “They are for a friend’s wedding.”  
“Why are they here?” The response was through gritted teeth, he wasn’t happy.  
“I’m in charge of them and I ---” Molly exhaled loudly, placing her forehead in her hand. “And I forgot to make arrangement for them.”  
“It’s not like they are going to end up on someone’s table. There are swans after all -- not geese,” he snarked,  
“What is wrong with Regent’s Park?” Mycroft asked glancing down at the gaggle that had surrounded him.  
“You haven’t answered my question.” He pressed.  
“Which one?” struggling with her coat, she tried to remain coy.  
“Why are they here?”  
“I need your help.” The coat was now over her left leg and the arm of the chair, nervous, she smoothed at the fabric.  
“Why --”  
“Because I’m asking nicely and you should help me.” Folding her arms and straightening her back, she didn’t waver from his eye contact.  
“Why should I help you?” Mycroft grumbled, watching a stray bird relieve itself on his desk.  
“We’re friends.”  
“I don’t have friends.”  
“Of course you do!” Molly, cheerfully, insisted. “I’m your friend, Anthea is your friend, John is your friend, even Sherlock --”  
“Fine!” he interrupted, trying to keep his irritated tone while his face continued to watch the swans in horror. “What would you have me do?”  
“I don’t know ...” Chewing at her bottom lip, she wrung her hands. “I thought maybe you could use your pull to...find temporary housing for them.”

For a moment, Mycroft thought, fully irritated and wanting them out of his office as soon as possible, it didn’t take him long to decide on a reasonable action.  
Mycroft was fully irritated and wanted these birds out of his office as soon as possible. It only took a moment of thought before he decided on a reasonable course of action.  
Picking up the phone, he scrolled through his contacts soon finding the person he was hoping to speak to. 

“I’m calling the owner of a bird sanctuary.” Mycroft adjusted in his chair and jerked a wrinkle in his shirt. Of all the things to use his pull for, having someone transport them away was beyond the pale.

After accommodation for the swans had been sorted a dejected Mycroft sat, head in hand, surveying the disarray being created by the swans. His desk was nearly cleared from the excitement of the bird, everything would need to be cleaned, yet, as if she were her own tiny island amidst the chaos, Molly Hooper sat, hands folded on her lap, smiling as if nothing unusual were happening.  
“They mate for life, you know,” she finally spoke, hoping to balm the tension.  
“Yes, well, they are stupid animals.”  
“Being stupid doesn’t make their existence any less valuable.” Defiantly, Molly crossed her arms and sat up straight, staring him down.  
“I never said they weren’t valuable; they have their place in the food chain.” Molly gave him a half smile and raised an eyebrow, accepting the subtle curve of his mouth as proof he was only joking.  
“So, they’ll be safe until Saturday?” she calmly asked and he nodded.  
“If that’s how long they need to be housed.” Leaning back in his office chair, he gently drummed his fingertips on his chin, examining her. “That top is lower cut than I expected from you.” Molly felt some color light her cheeks as he smile grew.  
“Nothing wrong with that.” Looking away from him, she brushed off her trousers, pulling away feathers and cat hair.  
“You’re wearing more makeup than usual….” Molly blinked at his deductions, keeping her expression unchanged. “Your hair is down….” Downcasting his eyes, he let out an audible groan. “You’re flirting with me.”  
“Would that be bad?”  
“It would be a waste of time.” Molly stood up and walked over to replace things on his desk. After all, she’d brought the swans in, causing this chaos.  
“Maybe it is a waste of time,” she shrugged, as she righted a small set of shelves and a small bust.  
“It is.” He was so insistent, Molly was through with playing and decided to go in for the kill. Casually, she turned to face him and placed her hand on his thigh, near his poorly hidden bulge.  
“Merry Christmas to you, too, Mycroft.” She smiled, slyly, letting him know she’d had noticed even before she touched him. “Thanks again for your help. I’ll stop by later to check in.”  
With that, she pulled on her coat and headed back out in the snow, leaving Mycroft speechless and alone with seven swans and their mess.


End file.
